


Línea de Sangre

by silusaugustus



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Medieval Medicine, Other, Spanish Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2020-11-02 06:15:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20649260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silusaugustus/pseuds/silusaugustus
Summary: Leon reads, in Resident Evil 4, that Ramon Salazar's ancestor committed the "sin" of sealing off the Las Plagas and persecuting the Los Illuminados.  This is the story of what really happened centuries ago.





	1. A Peaceful Approach (1)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to attempt to be as historically accurate as possible here. I'm also in the works of building a timeline of events, because this story will move down through the line and eventually end at the present with Leon returning to Spain and uncovering more mysteries of the plagas. If you want to follow the timeline, here it is: https://www.tiki-toki.com/timeline/entry/1294847/Las-Plagas-History/
> 
> I've changed nothing from the game surprisingly, as they stayed historically accurate for most of the notes/comments/lore. If I do make a change or a creative edit I'll notate it in the chapter.

The ceremony ended, and the newly-named  _ Grande de España _ _Excelentísimo Señor Ramón, Conde de Casa Salazar _rose from his position at the Royal Thrones. Ramon uncertainly stood, the coronet heavy on his head, and turned to face the applauding, serenely smiling court. The King and Queen flanked him, and Isabella helpfully whispered, “Now we exit,” just as her husband strode forward, toward the large wooden doors Ramon had recently entered. 

He didn’t attempt to turn his gaze in thanks, but remained steely as the trio exited. The lords and ladies were all whispering above each other, many pairs of eyes searching the  _ Conde’s  _ athletic build and steely jaw. He did not enjoy the attention, but bore it well. Soon enough they were past the audience, and the guard led the three to a private hallway. The soldier dipped in respect as the door closed behind him. Ferdinand wasted no time. 

“You honor us,_ mi Pariente_, but I have other matters to attend--”

“I will speak with my cousin,” Isabella interjected warmly. The pair had not spoken save written correspondence for years, not since Ramon’s wedding. “Come, my writing room is quiet.” 

____

Isabella took a seat near a large window, where a savage rainstorm beat upon the glass. She was bathed in the low light, her _verdugado_ making sitting difficult; apparently the monarch was used to it as she shifted the hoops to recline in the large chair. Ramon hesitated, and she gestured to the velvet cushions around her feet As he approached, he gestured to the uncomfortable coronet on his head. 

“May I….” _not wear the lavish, expensive honorific crown you just gave me?_ He didn’t know how to ask. But she grinned in a way she hadn’t since his ceremony. 

“They’re terribly uncomfortable, aren’t they? Please, go ahead.” 

He sighed happily, removing the crown and less stiffly, sitting on the pile of cushions at her feet. Isabella smoothed her dress before removing her own crown. It was an unspoken gesture of how comfortable she felt with him. 

“Your father would have been proud of you today.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said for what felt like the thousandth time. “I look forward to assisting the _Reconquista_.”

“Are your ships good quality? The supplemental knights?”

“They will be more than adequate.” 

Isabella nodded, then paused in thought. She looked out the window. “I suppose…” After a hesitation. “I hope you don’t see it as an insult that Ferdinand suggested the northern coast. I hope…”

“Tactically, it makes sense,” Ramon said truthfully. “It is unguarded. We need more fortresses, more eyes, there. I also understand that the land in the area is good, with plenty of rain and enough sun to grow. We could benefit from the farming.”

She was eyeing him. Ramon was born nobility, had been raised in many fine Castilian homes and towns. To send him to a barbarian-infested area seemed harsh, but he had proven himself to not only be a strong, smart, skilled warrior, but a devout Catholic and nobleman. However, the gifted man, her distant cousin, recently had family tragedy, and sending him off to the damp northern mountains was a heartless decision, all things considered. 

As if reading her thoughts, Ramon stroked the large ruby on his coronet with his thumb, and said in a low voice, “I do have one more favor to ask, even after everything you’ve done for me.” 

His shaking hands betrayed the stoicism on his face. Isabella nodded mutely, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Catalina.... does not wish to accompany me. She has requested that I allow her to return to the country outside of Leon. She’s taking Nicolas.”

This was to be expected; most noblewomen and their children would have no interest in taming an area to build a royal fortress. “She wants to leave Eva behind.”

Before Isabella could react to this, Ramon began again in a more resolute tone, “We haven’t buried her yet. I knew we were leaving, I didn’t know when…” his voice cracked and suddenly he became very focused on staring at a dark spot on a nearby tapestry. “But Catalina fears the spread of the disease with her body. I ask that I may bring a burial ship with me, and put her to rest in our new home. That the men and labor can be spared for that. I cannot leave her behind, in limbo.”

He shouldn’t have worried about hiding his tears; Isabella’s eyes were misty, and she squeezed his shoulder firmly. “I am so sorry. I will make immediate preparations.”

_____________________

The ship, a small caravel, tossed about in the black-blue coastal waters. Ramon’s dark hair was now a slick black, filled with rain, and he squinted against the spray as he surveyed the dark coast looming above them. They approached a break in the cliffs, a large outcropping of rock that served as a natural wall. Standing with one of the Queen’s appointed surveyors, he gestured at the area. “The natural guard here is wonderful.” 

“Indeed sir,” the man responded, enthused. “We must read the stone to be sure, but I feel God has led us here.” 

Ramon’s military planner, Gustav, stepped up toward the pair and pointed past the break. “Three knots past this point is a docking area we used when scouting. There were no disturbances last time we arrived.” 

“Are the other ships nearby?” 

“Yes sir,” Gustav curtly nodded. He wore a permanent frown, a byproduct of constantly seeking out, or being sought out for, kills. Unlike Ramon, he particularly enjoyed combat and confrontation, but he appreciated the other man’s strategist mind. They had worked well together on every mission so far and now, approaching 30, their mutual trust was palpable. “Men and horses at the ready.”

“And you found no willing locals to talk during scouting?” Ramon had read the report, but saying goodbye to his cold, grieving wife and confused young son while wrapping up his daughter’s corpse for sea travel had left little mental space for the reports. 

“No. We were attacked with a barrage of arrows. Small and crude. They were in the trees. The arrows were not shot hard enough to penetrate even the men without mail. There were booby traps as well, simple things of wood and hidden holes. I'm not sure if they were used for hunting, or defense.”

“Are they pagan?” the land surveyor asked, eyeing the mountains in the distance.

“Not the type we usually encounter,” Gustav grinned, but it looked more like a grimace. “Not Goth, not remotely. Very remote.”

“I’ve heard they’re immune to the plague,” the surveyor said, and Ramon stiffened. Gustav gave the other man a reproachful look; he had no idea about Ramon’s daughter. “Do you reckon that’s true?”

“Anywhere in the Empire, and anywhere on the continent for that matter, the spread is slower in the country,” Ramon interjected before Gustav could answer, “That’s been proven many times. If they are exposed less quickly, it has nothing to do with their religion.” 

“How would anyone even know,” Gustav snapped, “When they die like animals in the wood, who would remain after the Black Death?” 

“It’s just a rumor I’ve heard,” the other said apologetically, sensing he’d struck a nerve. 

Gustav was happy to change the subject. “If they do attack us, how would you like to proceed? I can ready the men as we move onto land.” 

Ramon’s glassy green eyes were fixated on a point far away. Not the rock or mountain or mysterious fog shrouding the coastline, but somewhere even farther. He heard Eva’s laugh, saw her running in the grass, sunlight pouring down her long strands of chocolate-colored hair. The image was overtaken by blue lips, sunken eyes. A matter of days. 

“_Conde_?” 

An uncharacteristically light touch on his shoulder from Gustav called Ramon to start, hissing a silent curse through his clenched jaw. 

“I...Forgive me Gustav. I wish to…” he blinked, staring into the fog again, trying to imagine what these hostile pagans would even look like. “I wish to speak with them. Make every attempt for peaceful approach. If they refuse, we must push forward until we take the land and set the perimeter.”

  
  



	2. Mind the Barbs! (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramon and his Knight of the Inquisition set forward to deal with the area's pagan inhabitants.

The war horses responded with gratitude at being placed on land. When the band of armored knights moved to sit upon them, they moved in an anticipatory way, neighing, flipping their manes, shaking their long graceful heads and necks. Part of the motion was likely the beasts simply happy to shrug off the stiffness of sea transport and its abysmal quarters, but they like their riders craved the sport of blood and flesh. 

Or at least they had while roaming the camp. Now, Ramon could feel an additional apprehension almost radiating from his prized creatures. It was as though they sensed palpable danger in the thick, dark pines ahead. 

Ramon tossed his own shaggy mane as his horse stamped beneath him. The composed man’s eyes held a hint of wildness now as he scanned the border of the so-called pagan territory. He did not wear a helm as the others did; he wished to look non-threatening and based on Gustav's early interaction, this land was not inhabited by warriors. 

Earlier that morning, as their beasts were groomed and armor prepared, the group formed a tight circle near the curly haired military commander. Gustav was blunt and frank, perhaps the opposite of the brooding and calculated Ramon, but all men with military training appreciated the former's clipped briefings.

Gustav had been scowling as normal, this time at a map. "We know there is an access path that goes toward the centralized village area. Here. We attempted to recruit a scout--might I add, with good pay-- from the next town and were told, unanimously, that here-“ he drew a perimeter circle in a thicket of trees, “-is the _end_ of scouting. No man we spoke to dares venture further and says certain death and madness awaits those…_unapproved_ to venture in.” 

This strange information caused a murmur among the men. Ramon glanced at his comrade, wondering if he was mocking, but Gustav had already started to trace another route back up the cliff side. 

“The path north leads to a great plateau, but it is steep and only suitable for foot or single horse…there is no road, no carts or carriages until we make the road. That is our target area for the fortress." He nodded curtly in the direction of the cliff-side, where the modest number of architects, construction workers, and serfs were beginning their own morning tasks. Building Ramon's castle. 

"After we…" Gustav's black eyes lingered on Ramon, who smirked knowingly, having crusaded with the man for years, "see to the …_salvation_ of the locals, and whether they are hostile--"

"I've heard plenty about them,” interrupted one knight. “And their hostility.”

“Well, if nobody from the cities will go in…” another man chided. "On the Queen's gold, no less."

The men collectively sighed and chuckled, most touching or flinching with their weapons in a strangely affectionate manner. They had been, like the horses now were, brimming with anticipation of danger. Ramon had merely flared his nostrils at the sportsman talk. Every group the Inquisition faced had its own myths and legends, its own fear tactics that were more fun war stories to tell little boys and used to impress girls at taverns. Pagans always had an extra dash of local lore. 

But now they were approaching that treeline. The forest had been eerily silent save the impatient half-steps and snorts of the horses, and Ramon’s steed overtook the company, marching to its, and his, rightful place in front. He could see the clear markings of a wooden and clay border fence ahead, and turned to follow the dark sienna as it wound between the trees. The others followed suit, gazing at the barrier with mild interest. After all, it was the marker between regular forest and certain death and madness.

“Don't suppose they're Moorish?” a knight asked from behind Ramon, his voice echoing in the metal helmet. 

Gustav sharply shook his head beneath his plumed helm. "Not according to the witnesses."

"Witnesses?"

"They go into the larger towns sometimes…for supplies. Generally they are avoided. I asked why and was told it was because they were frightening." He pulled his face shield away long enough to smirk at the men wryly. His smirk was not comforting at all. 

"In that case, probably _vascos,_" spat Jorge. This caused another wave of nervous, too-loud laughter. "Scariest bastards I ever saw."

Ramon's arm was suddenly, silently, flung upward, and the men's raucousness ceased just as an exhale would end: abruptly, and with anticipation. Ramon now stared intently at a break in the long barrier; as the others drew near it was evident what he was concerned with. Beyond the opening, past the threateningly carved wooden pikes, was a strange structure. It was made of wood, rope, and some iron attachments. 

The armor-clad Ramon turned as much as his steel would allow, with a rather amicable, questioning look. Gustav’s heavy brow lowered further. The structure stood as high as the horses, and seemed to be a crude idol, splayed out with limbs and accompanying blood—blackened, and buzzing with flies—but Ramon’s look and Gustav’s scowl hinged on the fact that the idol was adorned with multiple human skulls. A few of them had been filled with tallow and lit as candles, swaying silently by their ropes. Yellow-white flickered out of the eye sockets of these macabre lanterns, illuminating the brown-black of the congealed blood. 

Other bones decorated the totem, but none were as elaborately displayed. Ramon was still looking expectantly at his men, as though one of them were responsible, when Gustav quickly withdrew his sword. His horse lowered its head, twitching at the appearance of several humans from the thicket. 

Ramon gestured to his second to keep the weapon lowered, and he wasted no time in sizing up the group. Two rather wild-looking foot guard in front, and behind them, two more. They were shockingly dirty and unkempt, not unlike serfs, but each had blunt weapons, a bow over his shoulder, and some kind of tanned leather armor bordered with fur. These "soldiers" were not just dirty and malnourished, Ramon languished as he glanced over them. These men seemed downright stupid. Their gazes were fixed on nothing, their tongues lolled. One man seemed to have bulging eyes. The Crusader had seen many men near death from exsanguination or infection or myriad other causes that boiled down to war, and he recognized the stunned, humbling exhaustion of imminent death. It was at the very least, eerie how similar these men looked to the dead or near dead, and yet were standing and breathing.

Despite this subconscious observation, the aristocrat’s lip was curled in disdain before he even realized it, and he tightened his grip on the reins. He now opted to peer past the paltry troop and look beyond. The obvious authority was behind these foot soldiers; a wizened man in a long robe stood far away, blocking the path past the totem. His chin jutted outward in a challenging posture. He wore a thick hood with his woolen winter robes, but Ramon could see the glint of his eyes despite the dim lighting under the forest canopy. At this man's side was a much smaller man who immediately reminded Ramon of a sort of bunny or ferret; his eyes were wide and darting, his mouth askew in permanent worry. He looked sicklier than the guards, and clung to the robed figure as a child would, dipping behind the weight of his own hood and cowl. Ramon raised an eyebrow at this, and met the eyes of the other man. 

“Tidings,” Ramon said, caught off-guard by the acrimony in his own voice. “I regret that we first—“

“You are not welcome here,” the robed man said from his comfortable distance. Ramon was simply relieved that the man spoke Spanish; had the tribe been _vascos _after all there would have been no avoiding a fight. “I know that you have been warned. Consider this your graciously given **last chance**.”

His voice was gruff but somehow halting, as though he was unfamiliar with speaking very much at all. It took the edge off his threat. Ramon leaned forward, bracing his elbow on the saddle plate as though someone had just struck up a casual conversation. The man's ill-perceived authority caused the scorn to fade from the nobleman's face and he looked rather bemusedly at the group in front of him. 

“I’m sorry to hear that." The men behind him began grinning and fidgeting in their own seats—this skirmish would hardly even be called that. Still, any chance to blood-let was worth the trouble for most of the soldiers, and the old man was already antagonizing them. Ramon continued after a thoughtful pause, “Unfortunately, I have my own orders, and they come from the Queen of Castile.” 

The man did not even bother replying. He simply struck his hand out in a strange posture, and Ramon stared quizzically as this motion caused the scabby troop to snap into action ahead of him. Clubs and spiked sticks were brandished, and in response, the sound of sword after sword withdrawing was a familiar song that surrounded Salazar. Ramon reluctantly held out his own sword, twisting the reins in his other palm as his horse backed toward the line of his own men. The steel against steel tones were almost a subliminal tune that caused the horses to fall in rank. Ramon was now frowning, still hoping to avoid unneeded death. 

For their scrawny size, the pagan militia were peculiarly deft. Ramon and the others began dealing blows as arrows and spears whizzed past, or else ricocheted off their armor. Despite the zealousness of their bearers, the weapons were poorly made, seemingly crafted in haste with no real skill or mechanical thought. It seemed these men hardly got a chance to fight, and Ramon briefly pondered if the skull-bearing totem was their only enemy in the wild. Their weapons and aim were certainly made for dealing with wooden foes.

When another wave of men rushed from the treeline, doubling and then tripling the pagan numbers, Ramon finally felt his adrenaline rise. For all his church repentance and tedious book study, he loved the art of fighting. Now he supposed he would relax and ease into skillful battle. He kept to non-maiming blows, preferring to disarm or use his higher position to swing the sword like a brandished club itself against the men's unarmed heads, effectively knocking them down. 

As the battle began, mist of breath and sweat rose up above the small crowd, tendrils of it catching on the closest frost-covered pine branches. The forest was alive with typical gruesome warrior noises when a startled choke caught on that frosty air and hushed most of the men; Gustav neatly beheaded a combatant, but the man’s body still stumbled slowly, purposely toward Gustav and his horse. The creature whinnied in as much fear as its rider, and tossed its head in a warning fashion. Gustav's mouth was agape and he tugged the reins, the horse already hastily backing from the corpse. Now the others were turning to stare; Ramon had never seen a body do so. In seconds something had erupted from the garbled bone and muscles of the throat. 

Ramon thought he was hallucinating as the thing appeared and moved in a crazed motion. There was no way to describe it other than tendrils with thorny ends, whipping in a frenzy. Already another knight, Andre, yelped as a bone-tip spike sliced through his shoulder armor, catching and pulling the metal and a chunk of flesh down to the bone with it. Ramon was stunned, staring at the bright red, grisly carnage. Andre dropped his sword to clutch the nearly severed limb, and shouted, “Mind the barbs!” 

One immediately clanged off Ramon’s thick chest plate, and he instinctively sliced backward with his sword. The blade caught and cleaved the disgusting appendage even as others launched forward, surrounding and overtaking the hellish enemy. Ramon’s eyes were wide, white and he looked as untamed as the stallion below him. He flung the barb away from his torso as though it had bitten him, realizing that despite the lack of exertion he was already breathing heavily. 

In a flash the corpse and whatever had exited its neck were bested, but around the knights, the other starved-boys began to transform similarly. The lolling heads trembled, unnatural, as they made strange guttural noises; several heads in quick succession burst like rotted squash and out came the dangerous tentacles. 

Ramon knew it was useless. On horseback they could not get the close range needed to slay these creatures, but a knight in the forest without his horse was no good when he needed to get back on it. He called for a retreat with no delay. Usually this action forced an unhappiness into his guts, but that hollow feeling was overrun with absolute terror today. Gustav bellowed the order again, loudly, and moved forward next to Ramon to allow his men safe disengagement.

The others, like the two military leaders, did not argue this exit as one of cowardice. Each man hastily turned his horse. Ramon stayed his steed, tugging at the rein to ensure the others got out of the way first. He hacked the best he could at the unpredictable mess of extremities. The horse was not pleased with this series of actions, and the moment Ramon gave his reins slack, his stallion too bolted back in the direction they had come. The nobleman managed just as he departed, one final glimpse at the shadowed, robed figure. His arm still hung upwards as though conducting minstrels, and a grimacing furious smile was apparent on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Vascos" are the inhabitants of Basque Country.


	3. Their Ugly, Godless Stain (3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramon returns to camp after the face-off in the forest.

Ramon was  scarcely  off his horse before others bombarded him: answer a question, give an order, confirm an earlier order . It seemed the morning's goodwill mission had been the only failed attempt by the crew. The architect found him first.

"It will lie beyond this beautiful, natural scarp, my Lord." The tall, capped Dutchman stooped with the detailed contract in hand. "Structure, support and defense. The sandstone is perfect for carving the foundation and main chambers. It will be quick work, with the range we've found."

"Surely  God's will," Ramon said, his tone absent. He scanned the crowded campsite for his wounded soldier. The injured knight disappeared upon return, by comrades seeking the medical tent. Ramon could not hear nor see if they found any success.

"Agreed," lilted the accent, and Erik now pointed at where the signature would have place. "Even better, there are many limestone deposits. This whole area is rich. We did begin with lengthening the trail and beginning the road's structure. In fact, the trail is almost completed. I hope we didn't upset any--"

"No, no," the words echoed, meaningless, but Ramon continued. "I requested that it move with haste. And now we find ourselves in need of a good location for a fort. Prepare to build a fortified camp on the scarp. I want a fire, the horses, and beds up there tonight."

He turned, eyeing the high crags of the mountains to his north. They were  exceptionally  beautiful, even in the bleak foliage of winter. Past the treeline the black rocks shone cold in the dimmed daylight. The image of the barbed creature entered Ramon's vision and he blinked it away. In its place his mind handed him the image of his daughter's silky hair, as it caught the light one last time in the bath's candles. He'd washed it himself during her embalming. Later, a nurse attendant plaited it as it usually was.  Ramon had removed the plaits almost  angrily, allowing the long strands to dry and curl around her round, small face. 

Ramon closed his eyes, willing the vision away. Rather see the exploding head again.

Erik stuttered for a moment. His Spanish was fine, but  perhaps  politeness prevented him from slurring through it.

"Yes...we can manage that. I..know a spot." Ramon did not reply, so the other held out the quill with an uncertain posture.

"If you'll  just \--"

"Yes, sorry." Ramon scribbled with far less pomp and joy than any man should have. He was, after all, signing a royal order to create a magnificent architecture in his own name. "My footman can prepare the seal. Tell him to get it back to the Queen at once. Spare the supplies runner cog and bring all rations from it ashore."

"With such urgency...? Do you believe we will need to recruit more masons?" the architect questioned, one ginger eyebrow raising. For the first time since learning of the project, the man sounded nervous.

Ramon finally met the other's eyes. They gazed with the innocent, quizzical nature of Erik. It somehow brought Ramon a moment of peace, and he exhaled, realizing how absent, how lost, hewas. The nobleman paused and then gave a genuine smile. He moved to pat the shoulder of the other man, squeezing his arm almost  desperately. Like a man reaching, begging to  be understood.

"No, my friend," he said in a calm tone, "But we may need more guards."

More decisions. More words called out as Ramon took off his armor. 

Then it was the deacon approaching Ramon from the medical tent. He was younger than some of his lower monks, and handpicked by Ramon. Eduardo was sometimes skittish around the rough and bawdy knights, but remained kind. He spoke many languages and had seen almost every large city in Europe. Ramon felt blessed to have him, especially now, when the deacon nodded, "He should heal, thank the Lord."

Ramon's shoulders drooped. He pondered about inquiring further, but the other man gestured to the shore.

"I do not want to rush you. But the burial."

Ramon said nothing, and his pastoral friend sensed the man's dejection in his lack of response. It wasn't a strange rebuttal in this time of death. "With the coordinates chosen, one of your quarrymen has found a promising dig site. Samples  were taken  today. There are even signs of caverns on the edge of the north scarp."

"Won't a cavern compromise the build?"

"No, my Lord," said the younger man with excitement. "They tell me these caverns would face toward the seaward cliff wall, if they exist. That is our natural barrier. And the butte is sand, not lime."

"So, you spoke of the burial," Ramon dismissed, with uncharacteristic bluntness.  Perhaps  Gustav was wearing off on him.

"I believe  it is prudent to complete the burial today." The calm voice was  maddeningly  soft, caring, but the monk still dug his own nails into the prayer book in his palms.

"Upon my word, stone workers are willing to move the Queen's gifted stones and assemble them. The surrounding crypt will be crude, but sturdy, until the castle appears around it."

Ramon reacted finally, his stoicism giving way. At least it was in the presence of an emotionally-heavy man of God, who was familiar with death. All papal officers watched countless men, women and children lose family. So unlike many others, the deacon did not withdraw or even seem concerned at the display.

The Count ground his teeth, his green eyes glistening. A worried crease appeared over his forehead. 

"Relieved! To think I'm relieved. To bury her here." His gloved arm gestured around the foggy, smoky camp. "Here. Without her mother and brother. Without. It's my fault she's dead. I took her to the city. I--"

He could feel the lump in his throat, and wanted to sink to his knees, but knew he couldn't. Ramon muttered a curse to the tears on his cheeks, under his breath. If the monk heard the cursings he did not react  adversely . Instead he took Ramon's hand in a firm, almost fierce way.

"Brought her with you.  Just  as you have done now. She was, and is, with her father. All daughters are. In the presence of all these fine men, and our King and Queen, and the Lord, you in her name and honor can build not only a new home, but a new society. One with peace, purpose, and promise, and the blessing of the Royal Family. She is with the Almighty God, but even her  earthly  vessel will not be alone. Ever again. It will  be surrounded by  beauty and legacy, until you return to each other."

"I watched a man's head explode today," Ramon said in almost an urgent whisper, as if he were confessing a sin with disgust. "A monster broke through and  nearly  killed one of my men. It almost struck me for that matter. How do I reconcile this place with a resting place of my daughter?" Crusader knights took the hearts of their fallen comrades away from the Holy Land. It was a disturbing thought, to let their bodies decay away from home. And yet here he was, very far away from home...or, the only home his daughter had ever known.

The monk looked wary, but not stunned. No doubt, the other knights had filled him in on the origins of the almost severed arm. 

"Whatever the challenges are, the Queen, led by God, brought you to this forest. Is it a set of trials? I suppose many. Is it a reward on earth? No. But this is your purpose, what you  are meant  to fight for. Take their ugly, Godless stain and destroy it. Replace it with something better. That is how you give your family the peace and serenity you're capable of creating. You have to create it."

"And how do I fight this ugly stain?" Ramon was not asking with venom.  His countenance was  mildly  terrified, as though he  just  realized they would actually fight the creatures.

"That, I don't know," was the answer. "I am only a shield-carrier. That is my purpose."

"Well,  I suggest  that you double up on those, until I come into my own purpose, _diácono_."

\--- 

Ramon stepped out of his personal tent, a handful of belongings in tow. He surveyed the cliffs and sunset. He set his spread on the large rough wood dining table where no one would eat tonight.

The crews were packing tents, clothes, tools, weapons and every artifact from the ships up the long hill . Word had spread of the demons behind the fenced border, and the priority was the safety of all. Hardly a sign of camp remained below, and even those would be gone soon.

The long trail up to the fortification, which itself sat below the castle site, was full of activity. Lanterns and horses and men on foot buzzed by. The trail was not wide enough for a wagon even if the group had any, but it was wide enough for a pack horse. So the creatures made many return trips led with promises of carrots. With each load, the wind blew colder and colder behind them.

In front of him, on the table, was Ramon's last gift from the Queen. Another unwilling image pushed forward as he stared at the blue velvet bag.

\---

_After Isabella rose, leaving Ramon seated, she placed a hand on his shoulder, her own eyes still misted. "Wait here."_

_The queen strode across the carpet and beckoned a guard. Ramon could only hear parts of what  were spoken . He could tell it was the order to prepare a funeral ship and parts of a royal sarcophagus, and did not listen further. He stared at the bright weavings of the rug until she returned. But now Isabella held something in her hands, and she held it forward, eye level with the man._

_He turned and looked at it, confused. The deep blue velvet bag contained  something--likely  a book. When Isabella gestured with it, he finally plucked it from her.  After one more encouraging look from his cousin, Ramon pulled the golden drawstring and the velvet fell away. _

_It was a book, but one far more ornate and heavy than he'd consider most books to be. The brunette gave a perplexed sound. It was between an inhale and an exclamation, to which the Queen smiled and returned to her seat. Ramon swiveled from his spot on the step to face her again and held up the tome._

_"What is this?"_

_"Well, open it!"_

_Confused, he stared at blank, pressed pages. The cover was peppered with sapphires and golden designs, the most prominent of which was a lion's head. Its mouth was open in a snarl, glittering jewels in its eyes.  The mane flowed in strands, turning into the tendrils that  eventually  swept over the edges of the wooden cover. But it was blank inside. _

_"I miscarried a son three years ago." She was being  unusually  candid, and her voice was less clear. It was softer, sadder. Ramon stared with quiet caution. "A new queen, so much to fear. That is one fear that came true. And yet who can fight so hard for a throne, and then show fear? All Spain heard the news, of course. I could speak to no one of my sorrow. Much less my anger, at God, at myself, at my body. Or the pain."_

_She pointed at the book, seeming to remember her original point, her voice returning to its usual clarity  . "I spoke to a book. I wrote to my son. What Spain will never hear from my ears,  maybe  it will read one day. I gave him a name. I wrote about his looks, how he felt. How I felt. I still write to the book. Not always about him, but sometimes to him. Sometimes I tell him what his family are doing, how his sister...  maybe  his other siblings will know of him one day." _

_Ramon still didn't quite know what to say, but he turned his gaze back to the beautiful book. " I suggest  you do the same. We may pray to God and speak to our long lost, but writing things down seems to ease the soul. It is a silent mark that we can leave, to  be revived  at any time by those who love us."_

_At this he smiled almost  bitterly. "I fear that list is short."_

_"That's all right. It includes royalty."_

____

Now in the cold of the forest, he recalled the warmth of her room, and of her voice. Ramon began to write, sounds all around him.  He'd chosen not to stay in his tent  partially  to catch the natural sunlight and avoid another stinking, oozing candle . It was also a way to appear tranquil and in charge to those around him. After the day's events, retiring out of sight was a clear mistake to avoid.

Writing gave him something to do until he made his own trek up the hill to his new home, and his daughter's final resting place. 

_Eva_, he began. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter had another scene but I feel like this was the right spot to end it. Sorry if it seems abrupt.
> 
> ALSO
> 
> (from my discord chat with ada)
> 
> "  
this fucking story i swear to god  
i'm going to et a fucking phd in medieval spanish history  
first it was topographical terms  
then it was building materials and me watching like 3 chapters of resident evil 4 to see how it looked under the castle again  
then double checking about spanish rocks and historical castle building methods  
and then it was middle ages embalming and crypts and tombs  
and even though i said FUCK IT I AIN'T FUCKIN RESEARCHING HOW BOOKS LOOKED  
i'm now looking up which flowers grow in spain in winter"


	4. Incense, Pine and Wilderness (4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramon consecrates his newly gained land, and confesses a secret to his daughter.

The first of Ramon’s letter was written against the wind. It seemed to deteriorate the nobleman’s resolve yet allowed him the bitter strength to call the clergy. He left the book closed, its heavy cover locked against the battering wind. It was time he took the trail to the future castle site for the first time.

The walk up the crude road was long, and cold. With every step away from the original camp’s fire, Ramon’s body chilled in a way it never had when he was further inland. Here the ocean spray sucked every ounce of heat from the air, from his soul. The small, stiff priceless package that he held against his torso, then, was no colder than his own body. 

_ I carried you up the mountainside this sunset. I held you with a grip stronger than I ever knew I had. It would be the last time. Despite my anguish at this spot of land and its struggles, I cannot deny the beauty I first saw from the top of the crag. The sun left us with a soft winter cloud cover, feigning warmth with hues of gold and peach blood. Its paint was more beautiful than the finest cathedral. _ _ I believe _ _ the Lord was reassuring me of this place and its Holy purpose. _

The workers tasked with moving the Queen’s crypt stones had all lost family to the plague. The pestilence touched everyone, no one more than the common class. Tears misted on Ramon's eyes as he noticed the foreboding walls. Fully constructed, meager greenery and winter wildflowers adorned them. The decor was local, he realized as he peered around the oil-slick mountain’s protruding rocks. Here, the foliage was all scraggly pine branches and some small coastal brush. Stubborn, earth-toned blooms protruded where the soil was lucky enough to collect. These were the sources of embellishments. 

Against the polished crypt walls, it was more beautiful and extravagant than any summer bouquet. Ramon hugged Eva to his chest again as he took in the scene. She was wrapped in fine linen shroud, and over that, Isabella’s gifted blanket bearing the Royal Crest. This was perhaps the most touching measure from the Queen. Ramon could sense that his cousin’s decision to provide a warm, thick winter blanket to a child buried at the end of the year was the urging of a mother’s heart, not a Queen’s. 

_ I cannot say that my heart was any more ready to let you go. In fact I grew terrified more than ever. These gestures of kindness give what little comfort I can take in knowing that you are apart from me. I did not let you go as the deacon and his men began the Rite of Committal. I forget their words, there were so many prayers for you, but I was only concerned with not letting you go. _

If any of the members of the Priesthood were disconcerted by Ramon’s disregard of proper ritual at the burial place, they did not show it. The men remained impassive through the entire ceremony. Finally the Lord's Prayer came. Following was a rather soothing silence, presumably intended for prayer, but Ramon only gripped the body as he knelt. Finally the Deacon spoke. His words sounded strange as the long ritual was nothing but Latin.

“_Condado… _” he almost sounded sorry to interrupt. “Is there a song you would like?” His voice was sheepish, as this was usually asked long beforehand. Incense lingered on the palpably thick air. The sun had fallen and now it was dark; it seemed strange to suggest singing at such a somber moment. 

Ramon swallowed, lifting his chin from the blanket, blinking several times. Apparently, he had not thought about it either. Still it was an effortless reply. “She loved _ Ríu Ríu Chíu._” 

The request was one to balk at, in any sort of respectable company. Even the high-collared clergymen only exchanged the most fleeting of glances between them. Though the other men stood behind him, Ramon spoke as if he could see their expression. “I know it isn’t...customary.”

_ Reflecting now on the request, it encapsulates this season. This in which the towns and cities and people come so much more to life, to celebrate the birth of our Savior. How removed we are, while we are here alone fighting strange things. I suppose that too is fitting. It hurts me so to think of birth and creation and the happiness of others when you’ve _ _ been taken _ _ from me. I remember how beloved the song was to you though, and how scared of the wolves you were after learning about them. The brothers rendition was as beautiful as any I’ve ever heard, more beautiful because it was for you and no one else _. 

The quickly descending night fell even darker as the men’s voices faded out on the last notes. The end of the song took what little warmth remained. Ramon had not moved or for that matter, moved his daughter to the sarcophagus. Before anyone could awkwardly ask another question, he tilted his head. The Count issued his first authoritative sentence in hours. “Leave us, I will continue alone.”

The men did not argue, but the Deacon took a long time with leaving as though he was unsure. He headed up the cliff further to inform Gustav’s men where their charge would be. The others sauntered onto the trail that led to the new camp and Ramon was finally alone. His bones ached from cold, his hair was in tangles from the wind. 

Long after the footsteps had faded Ramon spoke. 

“I’ve brought you something,” and he cradled her in one arm as he withdrew a large jeweled piece from his breast pocket. “It is our Family jewels, given to my father when he became Count. I inherited them.” The glittering crest pin was absurdly large; several precious stones sat among the golden emblem. “No matter what your brother might have said, I would have given them to you." He smiled at this, then sighed. "As it is, I have no choice...but.”

Hands fumbled in the freezing wind, but Salazar managed to twist the soft gold far enough. The largest jewel, a heavy ruby, popped out of its setting. The stone reflected like silver daggers in the dark, a testament to its craftsmanship. Ramon reached under the blanket, tucking the gem between wraps of the shroud over the girl's heart. He lamented how it felt so strange to be so near touching her. Simple things like a hug or brushing her hair away from her face had been so routine before. 

“I know that nothing I can leave with you is enough. But I leave this in your care as a symbol. Tonight I lose a part of myself. It has been suffering since Leon, and finally I feel it give its last breath." Ramon removed his hand from her heart. He stared at the now ruined crest with its cavity, before tucking it away. 

"It is dead, and will go into this stone tomb with you, to sit in the quiet and still and wait for our salvation. I know your future, but I have never felt so unsure of my own. Whatever I could have been before, I know will change. I could be so much better if you were still with me. Maybe that is God’s lesson for me, Eva.”

He finally hugged the body again and kissed the forehead. Ramon moved to place it on the bough-laden sarcophagus bed. He fretted with the blossoms and branches and blanket for several minutes. The incense had been lit on the stone’s four corners and now they blended with pine and wilderness. The potion floated upward and comforted even Ramon. He placed a hand over the girl’s covered forehead. He stroked the velvet blanket as he’d done to Eva’s warm temple so many nights as she fell asleep. 

“I remember what you said to me on your last day. That you weren’t afraid. I know you aren’t afraid now, but I will still be here if you ever are. And since the brothers have consecrated this place, I can now confess something to you. Not a sin, but something I could not admit before.”

He paused to look over the expansive valley. Smoke curled up in tendrils from the workers’ campfires. Voices floated from tents, a laugh here and there. Lanterns and torches sprinkled down the dark cliffs to where the ships swayed on the cold water. Farther inland, the tall trees masked the hidden village. Since the sun had left Ramon could see the glow that marked its location. He could finally almost imagine the castle that would stand here soon. 

“I fought everyone from my own scholars, to your mother, about teaching you to read. I wanted to be the one to do it, and you seemed to learn best when it was me. You read early and grasped every meaning, even some that eluded me. I was so happy just to watch you. What a delight your search for knowing was. 

"As you read your questions increased, and so did your knowledge. I realized that you were not only thirsty for the knowledge of things, but for the adventure. To partake of their existence. You wanted to see exotic animals, to hear great music. And go into the temples described by our scribes. So curious about people. All you wanted to do was inspect life for yourself and see if it matched the vibrant words. 

"What I confess, Eva, is that when I learned you intended to travel and see the world, I was afraid. Every time you so eagerly begged to go somewhere with me, even though I acted jovial, I did nothing but fear. I did not want to let you go to stand for fear of you falling--how could I let you venture onto ships, into cities? Or the wilderness, or the Mosques? Or the forests? But I could not say no. 

"I was afraid every time. You were what gave me the courage. My fear was worth the reward when you would finally see these things. You would talk about them, paint them, question them, pick at them. You would tell your mother how strange and wonderful the world was. You gave me courage, daughter. I never got the chance to tell you that, or thank you for it." 

The next few quiet minutes were punctuated with a wolf’s howl. It sounded from a faraway mountain, and from the cliffs came several rattles of a kingfisher. 

"And I confess this because I am still afraid, more afraid than ever. Please--” his voice finally cracked, and he did not fight it, “I ask you to give me courage now. Your presence hallows this home. But I am still afraid.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ríu Ríu Chíu was written in the same general time as I've set this story but may have been written after. If there's a slight anachronism there, sorry, but it's worth it because the song's beautiful. 
> 
> Listen to it here:  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JthZskazxKo
> 
> or:   
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVe9DLlrMWM
> 
> Also, the kingfisher and wolf that Ramon hears are in the song.


	5. Andone (5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Eva's burial, Ramon is faced with a proposition in regards to the village.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested in this kind of thing, here's some faces I picked out for these characters.  
https://i.imgur.com/7DdyV7m.jpg
> 
> Edit - I posted this halfass edited, my bad. It's hopefully easier to read now.

Ramon’s very long night began with saying goodbye to his daughter. His sorrows on that long night would grow in ways he could not yet imagine. He had no way of knowing this, or he likely would not have left his makeshift bed next to the small body in the stone chamber, blanketed by the curtains of grief and darkness.

But he did emerge, after sealing the lid himself and adorning it with even more pine and flowers. With little enthusiasm, the nobleman carried his torch back to the main road and contemplated his direction. He remembered he'd left his journal, and did not feel like socializing. With a rueful look toward the warmly lit upper camp, Ramon chose the downhill path, toward the old camp.

It was late enough that no one was on the trail except the occasional night guard passing Ramon as he descended. Each offered a solemn nod and no words. As Ramon crossed the forest clearing near the coast, Gustav appeared with his own torch, and a scowl.

“I was looking for you,” he admonished. “I would have...gone with you. Supported you.”

“It’s all right.” Ramon looked weary; in fact, he had sobbed for so long that his eyes resembled those that wanted for sleep. He had no intention of sleeping but did not hide the weariness on his face.

Gustav surmised as much. He looked up and down at the Count. “Have you eaten? Would you care for a drink?”

“More recoup plans that cannot wait until morning?” Ramon was only half-joking.

Gustav scowled and smirked simultaneously, a rare talent. “Simple companionship, my friend. These dark nights are--”

A rustle sounded nearby; both men rounded on their heels, Gustav’s sword flashing immediately. Ramon, bewildered, stepped back. 

He realized that he had removed his armaments for the burial. His hand hovered in the area where his sword should have been. His other hand touched his chest in a dainty gesture, but it was actually an incredulous jolt as he realized he wore no breastplate. The brunette glanced over at the old campsite's large wooden table. His journal, belt, sword, dagger, and gloves were all sitting there, uselessly far away.

The figure that emerged from the trees was recognizable. It was one of the villagers from the morning. Ramon’s brows shot upward in shock. Gustav made a disgusted, annoyed noise as he brandished the sword, approaching aggressively. Ramon followed.

“How dare you show your face here!” Gustav was ready to cut down the heathen. 

The shoddily-dressed man bowed in a very authentic display of timidity; Ramon then recognized him further. This was the smaller, thinner robed man who had darted behind his older, smiling companion. Now he was close, and the large campfire illuminated him as he winced upward from the bow. He moved with a shuffle away from the blade. 

“I mean no harm and want no trouble,” he spoke rapidly, and somehow Ramon was startled to hear his clear Spanish. The older robed figure had spoken it as though he loathed speaking, but this man sounded quite normal and afraid. The creatures from earlier seemed so inhuman, so barbaric, that speech was above them. This man's tone was simply human, neither foreign nor monstrous. Ramon now stepped beside Gustav, whose anger only grew at the watching the cowering man grimace.

Ramon gave the all-too-familiar ‘wait’ sign by lowering his palm gently.

Gustav spat.

“You CAN NOT be intent on listening to anything this….THING….says.”

“We-we don't want bloodshed or death, same as you, visitors,” the man reiterated, his glittering eyes dancing from Gustav to Ramon. They finally alighted on Salazar, who looked more amiable and open.

“Then you shouldn’t have attempted to kill us earlier today,” Gustav growled. Ramon found himself fighting to step in front of his general, pushing the man’s shoulder.

“_Silencio_,” he snapped in a hiss, almost baring his teeth. The other man was taken aback by this and actually lowered his sword, staring at the Count as though he were insane. Ramon fought to use a calmer tone as he continued, “If we are to achieve peace, understanding must at least be attempted here.”

Gustav only dropped his sword hand further and glowered at the villager.

The nervous man wrung his hands as his head dipped forward again. “I--that is, we, agree,” and he licked his lips in a rather guilty manner.

“Allow me, Sir, to introduce myself. My name is Andone. I am from the village which I suppose you know," his speech had the tendency to speed up from fear, and then stutter once he'd realized he was blabbering rapidly, only to start up again with increasing speed. 

"...I uh, serve as the Chief’s second. Auxiliary Bishop, you might say, in your own hierarchy. He-he has sent me with an olive branch and sends his concerns for earlier today.”

The latter statement was an outright lie, but the man's display of subservient manners caused Ramon to instinctively draw himself up to full height. His chin tilted downward in a friendly, if haughty, nod of respect. “_Me llamo_ _Grande de España, Conde Ramón Salazar._”

He gestured at Gustav, who was breathing loudly through his nostrils.

“This is--”

“Gustav,” the other snapped flatly, and Ramon pursed his lips, turning back to Andone.

His noble animal was soothed, pleasantries and titles having been exchanged (if crudely). It allowed Ramon to study the man for the first time. He still gave off a rabbit-like impression. Most of this was due to his twitchy, furtive mannerisms, and his wild eyes, not from any defects of appearance.

The man was young; Ramon judged possibly 19 or 20, no more. He had closely-cropped mousey hair and a fair, handsome face. His features were masculine despite his young age, with a striking jaw and strong chin cleft. He did not display the same disease-ridden manner or state of being as the monster-men from earlier, but had a decidedly sickly look somehow.

Andone’s eyes were watery and sharp, outlined with an almost feverish red on the rims. This was striking and odd. It bore no resemblance to any illness that Salazar had ever been witness to; he tilted his head at Andone. “How would your ..Bishop...like to proceed?”

It was a statement made with the noble veneer of dignity. In reality it was a military tactic used to gain information about another's intentions, and it was misleadingly disarming of oneself. Ramon did not need to disarm himself in conversation, as he was literally disarmed. The tactic worked just as well. 

“I know it is late...I got lost,” despite the shame in his voice, this too sounded like a lie, and Gustav lifted one heavy brow, rolling his eyes. “But, all the better to come in the shadow of night. We are a very private people, we prefer...quiet and-and peace.”

“Something we have in common,” Ramon said with almost a hint of humor.

“It would be unbefitting for us to have so many visitors. Or armed visitors. We were not expecting you, we acted in haste. We have been ..persecuted against in the past.”

“I assume those persecutors became lamps in the forest,” Gustav quipped, referring to the tallow-filled skulls on the totem. Ramon shot him a warning look.

“This...this land, it is known for its blend of religions, is it not? A great diversity lives in the cities where men from the East, men from the North, Christians as yourselves, Jews, Muslims and Pagans all work and trade together. I have witnessed it myself the few times I have left the village. We only ask that you learn, with an open mind, our history and intention...for it is peaceful. It is.”

Ramon bit his tongue to refrain from levity concerning the orders of the _Reconquista_. This village would learn of it quickly, he mused to himself, and it needed no introduction.

“Since I know you intend to make this your home...I...we...our Chief, he's a Chief...has suggested that you come to witness a ceremony taking place tonight. He is open to answering questions, and…” the man’s darting eyes lingered on Gustav for once, “explaining things.”

Ramon sighed. What pagan atrocities took place in the village during the night, he was uninterested to know. While mentally wording how to decline the offer, he thought of the morning’s events. The strange monsters, the dead stares. There was already one injured knight and it was too soon to know if he would survive his wound.

Ramon eyed the man’s thick woolen robes. They were a familiar sight. Woolen, cut as every monk's cloth is cut, warm, but still simple and very well-worn. Mud splattered the brown fabric. All reports of this mysterious village agreed that it comprised of the lower class. There were no ornate minstrels or riches traded at markets. The Count had highest respect for monks of his own faith; their piousness was worthy of great reverence. All teachings led toward poverty and hard work. What would _San Jerónimo_ say of this secluded people and their mysterious ways? Perhaps this man's shabby robes did him a favor in softening Ramon's heart further. 

The nobleman’s pacifist side emerged, and he sighed after a moment.

“I will gather a party--”

“You may bring your horse. This ceremony is...it’s...somber. There is no celebration.”

“What does that have to do with my knights?”

“It is an honor that you would even be invited as an outsider."

For the first time Andone’s voice contained hints of authority, even superiority. He blinked, and the hesitancy returned to his features. “So the term--”

“This is ridiculous,” Gustav spat. “This is a trap.”

He turned toward Ramon, the rage on his face replaced with abject disbelief. “If you even make it to that rancid, festering shithole--”

“Gustav--”

“They will decapitate you without a single thought. It is more likely the wolves will tear you to pieces on the way.”

“There are no threats from nature when you travel with me,” Andone inserted with a sneer. His nervousness faded again as he looked upon Gustav.

“Because YOU are the threat,” Gustav countered, thrusting his chin forward. “Because you are an unholy, filthy devilish freak performing some sort of witchcraft.” He turned toward Ramon, grabbing the other’s arm in a crushing grip.

“Surely you are not considering this. You know better than to walk alone into a Moorish church, a place where violence is abhorred. These perverse men have no issue with it.”

“I must walk a little differently, Gustav,” Ramon said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. “Now that I am appointed as Count of this fief...things are different. We are not on a Crusade. We are expanding an empire.”

“They are asking you something foolish. There is no ceremony.”

Ramon sighed, and stated in a lower tone, “_Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord_.” He didn’t usually resort to quoting Scripture, but it worked well to bring Gustav to reason. The other did indeed back off, scowling, and feebly tried one last time. “I beg you, Ramon. Trust me.”

“I do trust you,” came the answer. He turned to Andone.

“What are the specifics of what you suggest?”

“We will go to the village, you will meet and, if you wish, eat and drink with us. From afar you may witness the ceremony. Our people do not interact with outsiders, so the chief will allow you to view from his balcony. All will be explained to you, all questions answered. Then... we will return, as...as allies and neighbors.” His speech had been coached, but the flair to be so gracious came naturally to the young man. 

He was so wiry and thin, with an air of innocence about him despite his untrustworthy demeanor. Ramon felt similarly as he did toward many serf boys and peasants. They were horribly abused, beaten into submission to their place in life. Most of their wickedness was thrust upon them by others. Had they ever been treated kinder, given more rest and good food, they would be fine men. He had no concept of what the village’s philosophy consisted of, but it was already horrifying. Ramon intuitively mistrusted the village and probably its chief, but he also intuitively felt and saw something pure, something good in this fellow.

“Three turns of the sandglass,” Ramon decided, and looked expectantly at both men. “That should be plenty of time.”

“The what?” Andone looked bewildered, but Gustav clenched his fist.

“And not a moment after. I will wake every knight. I will send the masons to the village to seal you up in stone. Every last one of you.”

“What?” Andone stared back and forth at the two. 

Ramon’s thoughts of the man’s innocence seemed to already hold true; he had no concept of an hourglass.

The Count smirked as he gently explained. “He’s threatening your village. If I am harmed--”

“You and every last pig or sheep or whatever foul animals you keep and eat, will burn without mercy. I swear it.”

“And I swear that he will not be harmed,” Andone responded with unease, stepping away from the other two. “If you are to go, let us go.”

“He _will_ arm himself,” Gustav demanded.

Andone raised his own arms, showing the long sleeves and his waist rope. “I am unarmed. It would be blasphemous to show arms at such a revered event.”

Ramon rubbed his eyes. “If they were going to kill me tonight, they would have came with their tendril monsters, and not a priest, Gustav. Let it be.”

“Then they have some other sinister plan,” the other spat. “To draw you out and away. Mark my words. I have never known you to be so stupid. You will regret this idea of peace. I only pray you live long enough to see your err, that I may call you on it as I burn their homes to make way for new crops.”

He stormed off, toward the mostly-abandoned camp. Ramon turned toward his second, taken aback. “Where are you going?”

“To fetch your horse, and the sandglass, you foolish cox-comb.”

Ramon did not dare to laugh, but he did smile at his friend’s shadow as it disappeared behind a tent. Gustav had no tact and all loyalty.

Ramon was still smiling when he turned to Andone, whose hands were awkwardly clasped at his front. The younger man was staring after Gustav with something between bemusement and contempt. Now he met Ramon’s smile and hastily looked away; he seemed uncomfortable with the elicitation of positive emotion.

“Have you no horse?” Ramon questioned, realizing that the man had arrived on foot.

“I--No,” Andone said, his voice betraying his shyness. He was far more relaxed with Gustav’s glare removed from the conversation. “I can lead you on foot.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Ramon’s eyebrow arched. “It’s so late, and cold.”

“It..it is not that far,” Andone stuttered. He seemed to have lost all resolve now that Ramon agreed to travel with him. This change was suspicious, but perhaps Ramon had lost some resolve as well. He was in no mood to fight or make tough decisions with lasting impacts. Perhaps grief and restlessness aided in pacifism, perhaps it would allow him to see whatever these people wanted him to see, without his own ego clouding his judgement. Perhaps he was tired, lazy, or curious. Perhaps all these. Perhaps. 

Gustav returned with a final glare and Ramon’s horse. The Count hopped into the saddle with ease, unburdened by any armor. It was a nice change despite the potentially dangerous consequences. He held the reins low and entered the forest, where Andone had already slipped away without a word. Gustav continued to glower and snarled, “Three turns!”

He slammed the sandglass on the table, next to Ramon’s journal.

The voyage into the forest was oddly silent. Andone walked with purpose and haste, seeming to see despite no lantern or torch. Ramon ducked from tree branches, and steered his horse around large rock formations or downed brush every few feet. There were no night sounds from birds or beasts, which was strange, but not as strange as the eerily lit skull-totem. They passed it without incident, but Ramon stared uneasily in its direction.

The foreboding symbol, along with Andone’s silent, strange witchlike ability to route himself through thick forest with no light, raised the hair on Ramon’s neck.

Something moved behind him in the dark, on the trail, and as he turned, a heavy blow landed on his head, catching him in the back of the skull. Instantly he fell into darkness and silence.


	6. Los Illuminados (6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramon witnesses his first 'pagan' ritual. And gets cozy with some villagers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too ashamed at how long this is taking me, but I did have a death in the family.

Ramon’s eyes fluttered; the warm ambient light of many candles was comforting at first. He moved to brush a lock of hair from his eyebrow, and realized he could not move. With a start the count opened his eyes and lunged backward, remembering the lapse in memory. His arms and legs seemed frozen, and after another few panicked moments he looked down at himself in outrage.

His hands were bound at the wrists and then again at the elbows, the thick matted rope smelling of cattle and dampness. The ropes circled his chest, waist and further, his knees and ankles. How would he begin to remove them? His dark head bucked as he sat upright now; he had been slumped in a chair while unconscious. It was flimsy, evidenced by the creaking sounds as he tested the bindings. He must have been in the village somewhere, he ascertained, and glanced around wildly as he struggled. The room looked far more ornate than Ramon would have suspected. Candles, bottles, and books all lined shelves that seemed mounted on stone walls. He stared at the stonework; such detail would usually only be undertaken for a church. 

Weren’t these people pagan? Could they have been Moors? He saw no tell-tale signs in the architecture, scripts that all seemed Latin or Castilian, or in the style of painted art. _Mudéjar_ churches were all blended, truthfully, but the Count had an eye for any non-_Reconquista_ appropriate idols, and saw nothing upon first glance. It did nothing to soothe him. 

Ramon’s anger was almost uncontrollable, but he forced himself to take deep breaths. One sudden move and he would be still bound, but on the floor or in some other, worse position. While flaring his nostrils he realized that his mouth was bound. This fabric he was able to writhe away from his lips, spitting it away as he shifted. The rush of cool air on his chin was welcome, and Ramon began to study in greater detail.

There was a window nearby; its glossy, warped eye only allowed him to see that he was atop a hill. He was also not on ground level. He fought the wrist bindings as he noted the plush carpet under his shoes, the carefully sculpted stone altar that made the centerpiece of the room, and the painted walls, ceiling, and door. The style was not Christian, he slowly realized, despite the familiar stones, tapestries and bookshelves. It was not recently built. It reminded him of the older Visigoth relics in the countryside where the _Reconquista_ had not reached its ever-growing arm. Even the artwork, he marveled, seemed completed for many years.

The painting and carvings captured Ramon’s attention. The dark, rich wood of the door was emblazoned with diamonds and vines, a strange plant-like pattern that reached up and grew into spiked flowers. Deer and birds were woven in between, their empty white eyes almost comically unreadable. But the pattern did not end at the door; Ramon’s green eyes scanned upwards slowly as the scene blossomed into a ceiling mural. A beautiful woman, a goddess perhaps? Floated at the apex of the curved dome, a placid smile on her face. 

She likely was a goddess, he confirmed, at noticing the figure’s pregnancy. Her arms were spread in a loving gesture around a large belly, and her loving gaze was angled perfectly below, her eyes fixated down at the altar. The vines and their odd flowers seemed to emanate from around her, and various human figures such as soldiers, farmers, monks, were all in groups performing labor as the vines wove their way throughout. He saw more animals: cows by the farmers, wolves by the pagan soldiers, birds near the praying monks. 

Ramon then traced the mural to the ceiling’s edge; here a disturbing scene was depicted. What looked to be a child, a deer, and a mountain goat were writhing, headless. Vines and flowers shot from their corpse-heads, and that was the moment Ramon’s jaw dropped. He was not looking at spiked flowers. This was a mural dedicated to the monsters he had fought what seemed like weeks, months ago now.

Those were not vines. A memory of a whip-like tentacle flashed in front of his eyes, and the knight actually started in response. His lip curled. 

As disgust swept across his face, the door opened, and Ramon snarled at red-eyed Andone. 

“I will kill you for this.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Andone said in an almost childish, guilty way, and he nervously tucked his sleeves in as he entered, flanked by two large men in what looked like ceremonial robes. Ramon noted the odd combination of religious attire with executioner-style hoods. Now the Count noticed that Andone had changed as well; his meager dirt-stained brown was traded for a rich, deep crimson that only highlighted the redness and sickness around his eyes. “I just...we have to be safe...I take no pleasure in it.” The warped, defunct smile that did not move from his lips seemed to commit that comment to honesty, at least. 

The young man seemed reassured by the presence of the silent, hulking figures. They seemed to exist only to be bodyguards and stood motionless by the door as Andone swept through the doorway. He moved closer to Ramon, and the latter lunged forward despite himself, nearly toppling over. His open hands grasped at nothing, straining against his thighs, and he glared at Andone, who looked mildly surprised. 

“Paintings, buildings, rituals dedicated to these...things! I will have your head. The Queen will have your head.”

“I don’t answer to a Queen,” Andone said, most of his nervousness dissipating as he seemed to bask in momentary superiority again. “At least, not a human one.” 

Ramon was too busy panting, still straining against the ropes around his chest, to answer. If the guards were perturbed by his visceral reaction they did not show it. Only their eyes were visible, and each stared blankly at the far wall. Red seemed to glint from their eyes as the candlelight wavered. Ramon paid them no attention though, instead focusing his contempt on the young monk. 

“Your entire blasphemous cult will burn,” he hissed again, and echoes of Gustav’s angry curses were already filling Ramon’s ringing ears. It was comforting in a way, but did not quell the anger. Andone, surprisingly, interrupted Ramon, scooting closer and kneeling down as though they were old friends. He did not keep eye contact for long, but it was notably longer than any time so far. 

  
“I meant what I said, Comte, about--earlier, about wanting peace. I do. And this, well this is really the only way.” He looked rather forlornly at the ropes. “I ...I am sorry for that. But had I not urged the Chief to--”

“Oh, this was part of your plan for peace?” Ramon’s eyes blazed, fiercer than the burning tallow in the room. 

“Please.” Andone was nearly whispering. “We chose you because you. You’re... so...devoted, so understanding. But don’t mistake that choice!! I am only the second. The Chief is far less....”

“Far less what?” And the door swung open again, both hooded guards stepping away as though they were fluid, summer water parting. The figure in the doorway wore even more ornate robes. These were a deep plum color and embroidered with so much gold that the man almost sparkled. Precious jewels encrusted the chest and bib, all the way to the floor. Despite the velvet hood being drawn over the man’s head and shoulders, Ramon recognized him as the older man present in the morning’s skirmish. He had thickly carved brows, which almost made up for his complete lack of hair. His smile was cold as his eyes passed from Ramon to Andone and back again. 

“Is my junior warning you about my ruthlessness, Comte?”

Ramon said nothing, sensing the power shift in the room. Andone cringed and backed away, folding his wringing hands into his bell sleeves.

“There is no need for anger, as you’ll soon see. I make no apology for my actions today, by the way,” and the man strolled toward a shelf that was brimming with items. He withdrew a book and looked casually at Ramon again, skeptically. “You invaded this place of peace. You came with weapons, with your....” he thumbed through the book. “...excuse of religion. I was protecting my people, which I am sure you can understand.”

Ramon’s gaze now moved between everyone. He was outnumbered, but he was fascinated with the men’s clothing. It was decidedly not Christian, but bore striking resemblance to pagan artifacts with strips of fur, dangling bones, and a strange mix of other cultural symbology on the belt, cowl, and other pieces. And yet, unlike most pagan attire, there was a definite show of pomp and power. Who were these people? Were they really a religion? 

“But be that as it may, we have not introduced ourselves. I know of you.” The sentence was brimming with disdain. “I am Beñat Mendez. You have already met my nephew, Andone--”

“If you attempt to--”

“Kill you?” The Chief laughed, turning to Ramon again. He beckoned at Andone, who arrived like a good foot-maiden and began scurrying to and from the altar with the various items Mendez plucked from the shelf. A goblet, a book, a strangely shaped jar. A velvet scrap of fabric. “I would have already done so, if that were my plan.” 

“Then what is your plan?”

“I suppose you can thank Andone for it,” Mendez said in a rather annoyed growl, “As I have no problem with exterminating ilk like you. Andone is correct in his belief that more and more Christians will come to this area now that Isabella is on the throne.”

“And you think you will convert them?” Ramon’s contempt rose, and now surpassed Mendez’s. 

“In a manner of speaking, I hope to.” Mendez ignored the derisive laugh that exploded from Ramon, and he continued, “...Beginning with you, tonight.”

“I will not participate in a damned, cursed blasphemous ritual.” 

“Ahhhh,” Mendez rolled his eyes. “No, the ritual tonight? It is not for you. The ritual was not a ploy. If we older...wiser men? Are to follow Andone’s reasoning, and give you this precious gift, show you our sublime authority….I want you to witness our power. Only by witnessing these things does the seed of faith get planted. Perhaps one day you’ll have something better than this,” he gestured at the table, with a lackluster gaze at the relics. 

“But these are...concerning times. And we are provided for, meager as it may seem.” 

“Untie me, if I am only to witness,” Ramon spat, rattling the chair arms as he flexed his forearms. 

“Even witnesses must join our blood,” Mendez marveled, staring at the small round glass bottle with a strange mix of love and fear. “See what we see, hear what we hear. It will help whatever fear you have now.”

Ramon laughed again, a bitter sound that carried even less humor than Andone’s complicit smile. “Fear!!! I am not afraid. But if you do not comply, I can assure you, the Crown will obliterate this entire mockery and farce. Whether I live or die.” The threat of the Crown’s vengeance gave Ramon enough verve to jut his chin forward in a taunt. His eyes sparkled, and flashed with anger in the candlelight. 

Andone looked troubled; he stepped into the background clutching some relic. Mendez chuckled again. With a mere sideways glance and smile he provoked, “I like you. Perhaps once my nephew’s bemoaned-after peace is achieved, I will take you as a bodyguard.”

Ramon, being a spoiled noble at heart, was too shocked at this despicable statement to even curse or spit. His jaw dropped instead, and with a stunned look he watched the older man depart. As Mendez left, the elderly balding man almost mumbled to himself, “We do still have time to bless the wine.” 

Andone bowed as though to apologize for his uncle’s statement, and Ramon remembered his own mouth was hanging open. He snapped it shut, and then glared at Andone. 

“What is this lunacy?”

“I told you, it’s for peace,” Andone remarked, finally courageous enough to give his own indignant scowl. “I want us to all live together. Newcomers, outsiders. We can all live together. I don’t like when anybody dies.” This last, innocent statement held the rare note of gentle truth the young man was capable of; Ramon squinted at hearing it. 

Andone’s eyes glazed over as he fixated toward the wall, and Ramon’s thoughts moved to earlier, when men’s heads exploded, replaced by writhing whips. Vines. Andone was genuinely saddened, and took a moment, it seemed, to mourn. 

The moment was over quickly, however; Andone moved with a start, and grabbed the goblet from its place on the altar. He eyed the doorway warily. “I must go assist with the blessing. We will return.”

“Where are you g--”

“S-someone will be in,” Andone fretted as he backed out the door, breathing heavily, “to prepare you. Please just...be kind. Trust in my kindness? I will return. I will answer all your questions, I promise. Just be calm.”

The agitated man darted into the dark hallway and Ramon sighed. What time was it? Where was Gustav? The Comte could no longer properly sit in fuming anger; he was too confused. 

Why were these men tying him up for peace talks and wine? He slumped in the chair for the first time since awakening, but was immediately put back on his guard when a gentle footfall echoed in the stone hallways, and Ramon would have sworn an angel suddenly entered the room. 

She was clad in white, formless robes similar to those worn by acolytes. The brightest thing in the room, brighter even than the glowing white linen, was her hair; it blazed orange-red and lay haphazardly around her neck and collar. It curled with evening dew, almost hiding her face. 

Ramon’s mouth again opened, slowly this time. He stared in rapture as she tripped into the room holding a basket bundled full of...something. Immediately behind her entered a young man, roughly the same age, and wearing the same clothing. “That’s it, go on,” the simpering uncle’s voice drawled from the hallway. 

Another priest, this time in red, but without the bedazzled bib of Andone, waltzed in and pointed rather tiredly at Ramon. The newcomer had strange red and black striped paint on his own face. It was ugly and served to further cement the girl as an angel; Ramon stared disturbed at the priest. That face paint was nothing the Crusader had seen from any heathen tribe. 

“Do not worry, he is bound.” The painted monk looked impatient, as though he were babysitting, and even Ramon’s predicament did not seem to pique his interest or gaze. 

Ramon still didn’t speak as the pair of acolytes began sweeping over the altar, un-laboring their baskets and taking great care to arrange the content the Chief had plucked earlier. A wave of deep purple velvet draped forward gracefully from the stone, a candelabra mounted at the head was now having its candles lit. 

The young man did not look at Ramon, but Ramon was too busy staring at the girl to notice anything else. She glanced at him once, furtively and in fear, but the second glance betrayed some amusement or at least curiosity at the tied-up royalty. When she quirked an eyebrow at him he nearly smiled despite himself, noticing the dark freckles poured haphazardly across her face. 

The painted priest began to pray; it was not Latin or any language that Ramon had ever heard. This caused the acolytes to shuffle forward, busying themselves at Ramon’s feet. The boy held out a wet rag and attempted to sloppily wipe down Ramon’s face; the dark-haired castellan fought against this with a muffled curse. 

He moved and ducked his head, which caused the girl’s eyes to widen even further. The boy gave up or decided the grime was good enough, and he backed away with his cloth in hand as the girl stepped forward.

Her motions were light and airy, the complete opposite of the fumbling Andone or the male acolyte. Her face was still a mixture of fear and curiosity. Ramon steeled himself and set his jaw, going motionless in an attempt to assuage her fears. Scared, abused peasants were unfortunately not a new item for him and he’d wielded a soothing hand more than once to some poor beggar. Never one so pretty, though. 

The compliance seemed to surprise her and she tilted her head as she knelt before him, getting far closer than the boy had. The girl dipped her fingers into the rudimentary, wooden bowl she now held and Ramon pulled away in involuntary disgust as he saw what looked like thick, black blood on her fingertips. He frowned at it, until she broke into a rather sheepish smile and mouthed ‘sorry’ while making an exaggerated face of disgust at the blood. This completely captivated Ramon, and his eyes did not leave her face as she gently began to trace something along the plane of his. 

Her pale eyes moved to her work; a long vertical line, down his nose, over his lips, lingering on his chin. Then two symmetrical sweeps upward, past each eye, outward. Now two more that seemed to curve down over his cheeks and inward, their last brushes at the corners of his lips. The girl seemed relieved and paused to stare at her handiwork, but instead caught Ramon’s very intense stare. The only sound in the room other than the snapping fire was the priest’s choppy, strange chant. 

“Ysabel,” snapped the furtive Andone from the doorway, and the girl scurried backward. She was more skittish than him even, afraid of retaliation, but Ramon simply glowered up at the priest.

“Let us drink this wine and get on with it,” Ramon snarled, and such good timing; Beñat re-entered the room, somberly. 

He held out the goblet with great reverence. More out of sheer habit than attempting to show any appreciation for other culture, Ramon allowed his glare to soften as he watched.

The goblet was placed on the altar, and Beñat lifted the small round blown glass jar. 

**“The seeds of the Mother are the gift of the Queen.” **

Red priest, Andone, and the two acolytes were suddenly still, heads down in autonomous fashion. Ramon quirked a dark eyebrow. 

**“Food eternal, no hunger.” **

The male acolyte tossed what looked like a handful of berries from the altar into the goblet.

**“Drink eternal, no thirst.”**

Ysabel lifted a vial of what might have been water into the goblet. Ramon refrained from commenting on the redundancy. 

**“Comfort eternal, no pain.”**

Andone rather sharply broke a small bone that sat on the altar, and into the goblet it went; Ramon’s stomach fell. 

**“Togetherness eternal, no death.”**

Now the red-painted priest picked up an intensely shimmering ceremonial knife and cut his palm over the goblet. 

Whatever the wine had been before, Ramon was thoroughly disgusted with it now. He turned a pale shade of green as Beñat continued, uncorking the round glass. 

_“We drink the truth, We have become--”_

And all but Ramon spoke the next words-- “**_\--Los Illuminados._**” The Enlightened. 

“**And now we cleanse the blood, that we might be whole again. Consecrated in nature, endowed by the Queen. We understand truth. We drink truth. The path to happiness is togetherness.**” 

Again, the room echoed. “**The path is togetherness**.”

“**Through sacrifice, we preserve our bodies. We save our souls**.” 

“**We will all stand together**.”

The rapture with which Andone said ‘together’ was alarming if not a bit endearing. Ramon quietly recounted in his head that this was the first pagan ritual he’d witnessed, his mind lingering on the ceremony as the young man, then the girl, then the red priest, and finally Andone, passed around the goblet. Ramon could only admire their impassiveness and esteem; all partook of the goblet with no grimace. 

Beñat did not drink, but poured the contents of his vial into the goblet, and picked it up delicately again. Ramon was alarmed when he was gestured toward, and everyone in the room turned to look at him.

“_**Welcome**_,” Mendez drawled in a long, rather creepy meditation, and he approached with the goblet. 

Ramon had no intention of drinking it, and set his jaw. This didn’t seem to be the first time that response was provoked, as all the others in the room overtook him and each clambered to help wrench his jaw open despite Ramon’s thrashing. They were oddly, terrifyingly silent as Beñat grew louder, singing more praises.

Red flashed in front of Ramon and he head butted, bit, cursed, spat. It was no avail and soon the wine with its other contents was cascading over the blood-art on his face; he inhaled it, coughed, spat, and was made to drink again on the intake. He could only close his eyes; they stung from the wine. Now he felt the two forward chair legs rear upward; he was being forced backwards. 

“You may attempt to refuse the Gift, but it will not be refused,” Beñat taunted, before forcing the rest of the heavy laden goblet up to Ramon’s lips. 


End file.
